One More Miracle
by Rach shutup
Summary: When he walks through the door, he's covered in blood and grinning like a madman. Moriarty/Moran, hints of John/Sherlock and Jim/Sherlock.
1. Playing Reporter

**BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL, LONDON**

**HELP LINE: (+44) 1234 4567 89**

_Last updated 16__th__ June, 22.12 pm GMT _

An explosion occurred at St. Bartholomew's hospital this morning at approximately 6 o'clock this evening, partially destroying part of the upper floors and roof.

Little is known at the present time about the explosion, though speculation suggests that it was the result of a faulty gas pipe. Flames can still be seen on the top of the building, as well as a large amount of black smoke.

People still appear to be evacuating the building. Fire and rescue personnel at the scene have deemed the building to be "dangerously unsafe". Police and hospital staff are refusing to comment at the present time.

The precise number of casualties is currently unknown. Authorities are currently setting up help lines for the families of victims. Local residents have been advised to remain indoors until the fires are under control.

We will update with more information as soon as it is available.

**(6.47pm) UPDATE:**

Detective Inspector G. Lestrade released a short press statement at 6.45pm:

"At this moment in time we are unable to comment on the cause of this explosion, though we can confirm that it doesn't appear to be the result of any foul play. The explosion occurred between 5.30-5.35 this morning. As of yet, there are no apparent casualties. There is no doubt that we have been incredibly lucky; however we encourage anyone with any information about the explosion get in touch through your local authorities, or via our police help line. Thank you."

According to witness accounts, a fire alarm was set off minutes before the explosion, resulting in immediate evacuation. According to security staff at the hospital, there was no scheduled fire drill, which begs the question:

_Who set off the alarm? _

**(8.26pm) UPDATE: **

The hospital has confirmed that all staff and patients have been accounted for. As such, there are no confirmed casualties.

**(10.12pm) UPDATE: **

One year today, Sherly. Did you miss me?

JM xoxoxox


	2. Playing Nurse

When Jim walked through the door, he was grinning like a madman and covered in copious amounts of what appeared to be blood.

Sebastian looked the man over, and then looked him over again for good measure. His usually flawless suit was creased and scuffed, even _torn_ in some places. He had a cufflink missing and his right hand was bruised horribly, probably broken in at least one place. Sebastian studied the small cuts that looked suspiciously like shrapnel burns on the right side of his face and on parts of his suit, the half formed bruises on his cheek and around his eye, and the powdery black ash that dusted his entire body from head to toe. He noted the large, thick trail of blood running down his face from what was probably a nasty head injury, and the fact that the man's eyes were red and bloodshot, watering at the edges, and came to the one only possible conclusion he could think of:

Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

"What the _fuck_, Jim?" He exclaimed, tossing the newspaper _that he wasn't even reading_ aside. Jim wobbled on his feet, braced himself against the doorframe with a hand that, in all honesty, looked as if it would break in two under any additional pressure. Jumping to his feet, he was at Jim's side in an instant. He carefully hooked an arm around Jim, and half-dragged half-_carried_ him to the sofa. He absently noted that the little bastard was far too light, that he didn't eat _nearly_ enough and Sebastian would have to fix that, but now was neither the time nor the place for arguing about how '_bad for brainwork'_ digestion was.

"Seb – Seb, guess what?" He says breathily, with all the excitement of a five year old _(albeit a semi-sedated five year old)_. "You won't believe it. Go on... Guess."

"What the bloody shitting_ fuck _happened to you? Jesus_ Christ_, boss, you said you were going out for a coffee run and some fresh air. Jim, this doesn't look much like _coffee _to me. This looks like blood." Sebastian yanked off his jacket and thanked the lord that he had favoured a plain T-shirt this morning over some expensive shirt. Jim _hated _when Sebastian got blood on anything designer. Then again, Jim hated everything Sebastian wore that didn't have a label that read Westwood, McQueen or Dolce & _Whatever_. He placed a hand on the side on Jim's head, focussing on his eyes and the damage around them. "You're probably concussed, you _idiot_. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Sherlock Holmes!" He yelled suddenly, swatting Sebastian's hand away and making to stand up. Knowing he wouldn't have made it very far, Sebastian grabbed his shoulders immediately and shoved him back down before he managed to hurt himself any more than he already had, earning a pained groan of protest.

"No, _no_. You've obviously been in some kind of explosion, don't you even _think_ about moving. Shut up and let me take a look at your shoulder" he demanded in the most '_shut the fuck up and do as you are damn well told for once'_ voice he could muster. It was a tone he reserved for only the most intense of situations; he hadn't really had to use it since his military days. He gently unbuttoned Jim's once-white-now-red shirt, and slowly slid it and the tattered suit jacket over his right shoulder, revealing a colourful map of blues and purples, spread right across Jim's pale skin. He gritted his teeth because god damn it, he wasn't paid nearly enough for this shit. He started feeling his way around the shoulder, gently, checking for any fractures or dislocations, earning small moans of discomfort from Jim. At any other time, they would have been fucking adorable. But now was neither the time nor the place for _that._

"_Sherlock Holmes.._." Jim whispered, all long and drawn out as it he was pondering some great philosophy that only he understood. He pressed down on Jim's shoulder just a little harder than he needed to, causing Jim to flinch, because _fuck_, he _hated_ Sherlock Holmes.

"...Is dead? I'm aware of that fact. Saw his brain on the pavement, sir. Now answer my question, what happened to you? Did a client come after you or something?" Satisfied that there were no major breakages, he slipped the shirt back over Jim's shoulder. "I'm going to take a look at your hand, it's going to hurt. Brace yourself." He said, easing off the suit jacket as gently as he could, and slowly rolling up Jim's shirt sleeve. Without warning, Jim tugged away violently, glaring at Sebastian, practically snarling at him.

"No! _Listen to me_! _Listen_ to me or I'll rip out your _stupid_ tongue and shove it down your throat!" He closed his eyes, swallowing his anger and clenching his jaw tightly as if trapping any further abuse, preventing its escape. "Sorry, I didn't - I didn't mean that." He says almost sadly, opening his eyes again and giving Sebastian what could only be described as the most _soul-shattering_ puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Sebastian gave in, and stood up.

"I'll get the first aid kit. Don't move." He commands, heading for the kitchen. The nearest first aid kit was down the back of the sofa, hell, the apartment was _full _of first aid kits, but the one in the kitchen was by far the favourite. It not only contained the softest, most expensive bandages money could buy, but also had a generous amount of morphine, heroin, and various other painkillers of questionable legality. It was only on his way back to Jim that the man finally spoke again.

"He's alive, Seb, he's alive. Sherlock Holmes is _alive_." He said distantly, staring into nothing. If Sebastian didn't know better, he would say that his boss looked shell shocked - _scared_ even, especially if his shaking hands were anything to go by.

"Jim... Holmes is a dead man. I watched that sorry sap of a doctor's heart break. I saw the body on a stretcher. He fell – how many stories? There's no way he survived." Sebastian said, kneeling in front of Jim and beginning to tend to his hand. It felt oddly like placing a comforting hand over Jim's in an effort to say '_don't worry, it'll be alright'_. Strangely, it had a similar effect. His shoulders relaxed and he exhaled heavily.

"_I_ survived shooting myself in the head." He muttered with his eyes closed and a grin small tugging at the edge of his mouth.

"You never shot yourself in the head." Sebastian countered, wiping away ash and blood using an antiseptic wipe. He felt a slight pang in his chest at the mention of the _headshot incident_. Jim didn't need telling how much that shit _affected_ Sebastian, yet he consistently failed to acknowledge just how _affected _his sniper had been. In truth, his world had literally fallen apart when he believed his boss to be dead. He'd found himself without a purpose in life, wandering aimlessly between booze, cheating poker and meaningless sex, never stopping to evaluate what he was doing because it _hurt_ too much. It was just like before, and he hated every second of it.

"And Sherlock Holmes never hit the pavement." He sighed, rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Though I don't know quite how he managed it."

"Don't do that, you'll make it worse." Sebastian said, softly taking Jim's wrist and pulling his hand away from his eyes. "I'll get the eyewash when I'm done with the rest of you. What were you thinking, meeting Sherlock alone like that? _You should have called me_." He growled the last part, throwing the dirty wipe aside and dramatically tearing open a roll of bandages using his teeth. "Shit. I shouldn't have let you go. I knew you were in a _state_ before you left. I get the coffee, Jim. I _always_ get the coffee."

"I was not '_in a state'_. Besides, I didn't plan on meeting him. I really, honestly didn't. I just needed to get away from these four walls and your ugly mug." He blinked, looked at Sebastian with a playful smirk, before closing his eyes. "Just kidding, Sebby. You know how I feel about your pretty face."

"You're so funny, Jim." He remarked, turning Jim's wrist to better apply the bandage. Jim took a sharp intake of breath, scrunching up his features in pain. "Going to have to strap this up in a support, I'm afraid. I don't think it's broken, but you've definitely done some kind of _wrist-related_ damage".

"God, Seb, you should've been a doctor." He replied sarcastically, swallowing hard, clearly in a fair bit of pain. "I saw him. It was a completely chance encounter. I didn't think he'd seen me, but then I got a text from him. Here, see for yourself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flashing the screen to Sebastian. There was a large crack going down the centre, but it could still be read.

_Looking good for a dead man, Jim. Meet me on The Roof. I have a surprise for you. I O U. -SH _

"And you went? Why didn't you call me, you bloody idiot! You could have died! You very nearly did!" He yelled, temporarily forgetting Jim's injured wrist in favour of yelling at him instead. Sometimes, it just had to be done. At times, it was as though Jim lacked any regard whatsoever for his own life, which frustrated Sebastian to no end. It wasn't easy, tirelessly working to keep someone else alive because they, for whatever reason, were too damned _irresponsible_ to do it themselves.

"He knew about the bomb we were going to use to blow up _That Bitch_'s house. He brought it with him, showered me with all of his little _deductions _regarding my plans, and told me to diffuse it or he'd blow the both of us up. Reckless, dull, unimaginative... But effective." He spoke slowly and softly, an illusion of calm. Sebastian knew that in reality, he was probably conjuring up a bunch of ingenious plans for revenge as they spoke, picturing Sherlock as a gruesome, mutilated corpse or some shit like that. It made for quite a pretty mental image, actually. "I pulled out my own revolver and beat him to the punch line."

"You did _what_ – Jim. You fucking did _what_, what were you thinking, I- _Jesus_. Never mind. I don't want to know. What does _Adler_ have to do with any of this?" Sebastian asked, confused. The last time he'd seen her, she'd made quite the impression, commenting on how Sebastian's '_over the top muscles'_ were ruined by his '_overall hideous posture'_. She'd told Jim that she had '_imagined him to be... taller'_. Knowing Jim, that precise moment was probably the point at which he had made the decision to kill her. She'd gone on to talk about insurance or blackmail – one of the two. They were the same thing, really. She'd threatened to expose Jim's plans to Mycroft "_Ice Man_" Holmes. That was the day that Irene Adler became known as '_That Bitch'_. Sebastian hated her. Jim hated her. Everyone, in general, hated her.

That is to say, everyone hated her apart from Holmes. If he weren't so _infatuated _with his army doctor flatmate, he'd have a good shot at her. Sebastian wouldn't have minded a piece of _that _himself. She wasn't too bad if she kept her annoying trap shut. He was almost disappointed when he found out that the boss intended to have her blown into a million smouldering pieces. It seemed like such a waste.

"I suspect that's where he's been hiding. It was carelessness on my part. The toy soldier who planted the bomb in her home told me that she had '_male company'_. I thought it'd be some poor sod of a politician getting all hot and bothered, tangled in her little web of blackmail. It never even crossed my mind that it could have been _The Virgin_." He spat the last word with an edge of hate. "Of course, he waltzed in and used his magical powers of deduction, which is a fancy term for _pointing out the obvious and calling it 'clever'_, to find the bomb and come to the conclusion that only _I _could've been behind it."

Sebastian frowned, tying off the bandage around Jim's wrist whilst keeping movement (and therefore pain) to a minimum, before strapping on a wrist support to be on the safe side. He pulled out a fresh antiseptic wipe and a pair of tweezers, using them to get the bits of rubble and muck out of the shrapnel burns and cuts that littered Jim's face. "I thought you'd be happy. You've been climbing the walls since Sherlock took his little tumble."

"I am happy. I am, Sebby, I am." He nodded, reassuring himself more than he was reassuring Sebastian, who extended his frown at the comment. "Honestly, I mean it. _Stop with the face_. I just... I _just_ wanted coffee and fresh air today, that's all."

There was a pause of silence, where Sebastian found himself just inches away from Jim's face, so close that he could feel the smaller man's breath ghosting over his own skin. Jim didn't _look _happy. He held Jim's head in place with one hand, and gently cleaned the cuts with the other, wiping away all the nasty black ash and partially dried blood. It felt oddly _intimate._ There was a particularly nasty wound on his hairline, likely the source of most of the blood. He cleaned it up the best he could, taped a square piece of gauze to it, and hoped for the best. Jim was right to be sarcastic, Sebastian was a _crap _doctor.

Even though Jim had just nearly died, this felt nice. It was always nice when things were like this, when Jim was calm and pliant, when he was _nice_ and relatively non-violent and they could just _be together_, even though Sebastian knew that it was merely the calm before the storm.

"What happened to Holmes? I hope he smashed his skull in, because if he didn't, I'm going to do it for him." He didn't even try to keep the venom out of his tone. Sebastian was a warrior and yes, he did enjoy the thrill of the hunt. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the kill, too. But when it came to Holmes... He wanted to tear the man apart whilst he was still breathing. Perform a live dissection – a _vivisection_, with a conscious Holmes and an audience of Watson because no one, _fucking no one_, was allowed to hurt Jim like this and get away with it.

"Aw, pet, I love it when you get all protective over me." Jim whispered, nuzzling his face into to the hand supporting his head. Sebastian scoffed, as if the notion of him wanting to protect Jim like that was ludicrous, even though both knew it wasn't. "I mean it, Seb. _Sebby_... I'm sorry."

"You're scaring me, boss. Just how hard did you hit your head?" He placed the tweezers back into the first aid kit and threw the wipe away, never once moving his hand from Jim's face. He wasn't lying; Jim scared him when he was like this. Sebastian often allowed himself to get lost in the _monster_, to be taken away with all the blood and the violence and the threats an_d death_. He'd get on with the shooting, the killing, and ask no questions about it. Jim was a criminal, plain and simple. He tended to forget that Jim was, beneath it all, _human_.

"Too hard, not hard enough, _oh, I don't know_." He muttered as he brought his hand to rest over Sebastian's. _Don't dare move_. "I _am_, though."

"You are what, _delirious_?" Sebastian quipped, about to pull his hand away. He wasn't wrong. Jim's pupils were huge and his eyelids were drooping ridiculously. His speech was unusually soft and very slurred. _Not exactly a good sign_.

"Sorry." His grip tightened on Sebastian's hand, just barely. _No. You aren't going anywhere (or I'll burn you, etc.)_. Sebastian took a deep breath, stroking Jim's cheek. He never knew quite how to treat Jim when he was being _nice_. Sometimes, it would backfire and end in a fight, end in them hurling vicious, biting remarks at one another and then spent the following days sulking at each other until the next job came along.

"What for, Jim?" He said softly, focussing all of his attention to Jim's sharp dark eyes; Jim's sharp, dark, bruised, irritated, watery eyes. This wasn't doing him any good; the idiot needed rest and _urgent medical attention_, not a heart-to-heart with a fellow psycho.

"_Don't_. You already know." He replied, shrugging off Sebastian's hand and making to stand, almost toppling over.

"I _do_ already know. I just wanted to see if you did. It's fine, just don't do it again." He said, tucking one arm around the back of his boss and under his shoulder, and supporting his waist with the other. "Don't worry, Jim, I've got you."

The journey to the bedroom wasn't really what Sebastian would call a _joint effort_. Jim supported his own weight as best he could, whilst paying little to no attention to his balance or orientation. Sebastian could do the driving, it was all fine. He just needed to get to bed and sleep it off. Everything would be better in the morning.

Sebastian set him down on the bed and pulled out a small syringe. "Morphine, it will help with the pain. It's only a one off, though, just because I feel sorry for you. Don't get any ideas." He said, tugging off Jim's shirt sleeve. He lined the needle up to Jim's vein, waiting for any sign of protest. When he was met with none, he slid the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger. The effects were almost instant.

"Wouldn't... Dream of it... Sebby..." Jim slurred, laying back into his overly large, fluffy white pillows and sighing contentedly. "Anyone would think I was... some kind of an addict..."

"You _are_ joking, right?" Sebastian said as he rummaged through Jim's drawers in search of something appropriate for the man to sleep in.

"Not... an addict. I just like feeling... good. It's not a crime..." Jim paused for a moment, rethinking his answer. "...It's not... a bad crime. Not compared to... the rest."

"Sure, okay. Whatever you say, boss." He said nonchalantly as he approached the bed, carrying a plain white T-shirt and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. Jim was, in all likelihood, an addict. The number of times Sebastian had peeled a semi-(_or un_)conscious Jim off the bathroom floor, so drugged up that he didn't even know what day it was, and spent the best part of an hour trying to rouse him and cleaning vomit off his face... No. Normal people, _non-addicts_, didn't do things like that. They just _didn't._ But that was whole other kettle of fish, and Sebastian really didn't have the energy to add anything else to his '_reasons I'm going to kill my boss' _list right now.

Joggers and a T-shirt weren't exactly Jim's ideal fashion pick. In fact, they were quite the opposite, but it would have to suffice for now. You can't sleep in a three piece, after all. It wasn't easy getting Jim changed. He wriggled and whined, kicked and tried to pull away. "Stay still, you god damn child." He groaned. People had put up less of a fight when he was throttling the life out of them. Hell, he'd gone up against _tigers_ with less fight in them. When he finally managed to get Jim sorted, he felt ridiculously proud of himself.

He reached into his pocket, revealing a small bottle. "Eye drops, open wide." Jim did as he was told, for once, which was quite surprising. Jim _hated_ eye drops. As an over grown child with a penchant for playing with dangerous chemicals and explosives, eye drops were an absolute necessity, especially considering the fact that 9 times out of 10, Jim was too irresponsible to bother with something as _'boring'_ as safety glasses. He placed the bottle on the nightstand.

"Get yourself comfortable, that's it, there you go." He pulled the duvet over his boss, smoothing it down over him. "You're officially confined to this bed until further notice. I'll be back later to check you haven't died in your sleep." He turned to leave the room, and had almost reached the door when he heard a tiny voice.

"_Wait_."

"What?" He said, turning to Jim.

"Could you pass me my phone? I need to send a text." He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, rummaging through Jim's discarded suit until he found the phone.

"You're gonna be needing a new screen for that, boss." He said, handing the beaten up phone to Jim.

"Oh and... stay with me... Please?" Jim said as he took the phone. He looked at him with the saddest, most heart breaking look on his face that Sebastian had ever seen, _would ever see_, and he found himself completely and utterly unable to resist. It was amazing how the vicious monster known as _James Moriarty_ could go from cobra to kitten at a moment's notice. Kicking off his boots, he climbed into the bed beside Jim, and wrapped his arms firmly around the smaller man, feeling him melt into Sebastian's hold.

"You're so adorable when you're clingy, boss." Sebastian grinned, holding Jim just that little bit tighter.

"Don't ever call me _adorable._" He threatened, managing to sound both threatening and dangerous, whilst also docile and thoroughly _cute_. He unlocked his phone and appeared to type a brief message with an obscene number of kisses, before carelessly tossing it aside and turning into Sebastian's hold.

"Can't help it boss, you're such a little sweetheart when you're not dismembering folk." He pressed a kiss to Jim's head, knowing he was in dangerous territory and not really caring. Jim was a bastard and he _should have called_. He'd well and truly earned a bit of harmless teasing.

"Oh, I'm_ little_ now, am I? It's not my fault you're a tank." He drawled, draping an arm over Sebastian's side. "All you do is point a rifle and shoot it, I fail to see how such a task could lead to you being so..."

"Herculean? Hulking? Ripped?" Sebastian chuckled into Jim's ear, earning a sharp pinch to his side. "_Ow_! You little shit!" Jim laughed.

"Try_ caveman_. Just kidding, all of the above, you're a manly bastard and you know it. No one likes a show off, Seb." Jim seemed to breathe his words as opposed to speaking them, as if the effort alone was too much. It probably was. Poor sod had to have at least two or three cracked rib, and smoke inhalation never did anyone any good.

"You do." He smirked, running a hand up and down Jim's back soothingly. "You're shivering, boss. Are you cold? It's not the blood loss, is it..?"

"No Seb, god, _no_. It's not the blood loss. I'm just... It's probably just the adrenaline." He lied through his teeth, shuffling closer to Sebastian. "I'm fine."

"And you're sure you aren't just saying that to stop me from dragging your sorry arse to accident and emergency?" He looked at Jim. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. He'd look so very innocent if not for the cuts and bruises that littered every inch of his person.

"Mmmm sure, pet. Just hold me."

"Poor little Jim. You've really had it rough today, haven't you? C'mere." He said softly, pulling Jim closer to him and holding him tightly, gently connecting their lips and kissing him ever so tenderly, as if anything harder would break him in two. Jim leaned into the kiss, opened his mouth and quietly moaned into the sniper's mouth, before pulling away and tucking himself into Sebastian. "Don't worry Jim, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." _Ever_.

"Sebby..." He purred, burying his face in Sebastian's chest and clinging to his shirt as if his life depended on it. Within minutes, the shaking had subsided, and Jim's breaths came in a slow, steady rhythm.

Sebastian's heart clenched. He didn't know what love was. He'd never had a long-term relationship, never thought he "_loved"_ anyone, not even his own parents. Love was for ordinary people. Love was for people who didn't make a living out of killing _other _people. As he ran his hands through Jim's hair, Jim made a soft, barely audible sigh of contentment, his hands tightening around Sebastian. He looked down at the smaller man's soft features, at his smooth skin and long eyelashes, and realised that _god_, it was the most beautiful damn thing he had ever seen. It dawned on him at that moment that what he had with Jim was probably the closest thing to love he had ever felt before.

And he _never_ wanted it to end.


End file.
